She's Up to No Good(91)

Famished, Evelyn left her sister and went to face her mother’s wrath in exchange for some eggs, toast, and coffee.





Evelyn dutifully went to the Western Union office and sent George the telegram after breakfast, then returned to the cottage, where Vivie was still locked in her room. Remembering her own similar behavior, she whispered a quiet prayer that George would respond soon. While she had no doubt that her sister would wind up with as happy a resolution as she herself had, she wanted Vivie’s suffering to be brief.

When there was no reply, Vivie wrote a letter, filling pages and pages with her looping script.

Another week passed. Fred returned to New York, and Vivie moved into Evelyn’s room, her sister rubbing her back as she sobbed each night.

When they reached the day Evelyn was due to leave, she called Fred to explain she couldn’t come home yet. He agreed, albeit with a sigh, that she should stay another week to comfort Vivie. When she did return to New Rochelle, it would have to be via train, as Miriam insisted Fred take his car with him or Evelyn could not stay. She knew her daughters, and, with a car at their disposal, the two would have made a nighttime escape to New York.

Finally, a letter arrived that Vivie clutched to her chest before running upstairs to read. She held it out wordlessly when Evelyn came to their room a few minutes later, sitting dry-eyed on the bed.

It was a single sheet, in block letters.


Viviest,





There’ll be more opportunities. Enjoy your summer.





—George





“Viviest?” Evelyn asked.

“His nickname for me. As in Vivie dearest.”

“The more opportunities part sounds promising.”

“The Enjoy your summer does not.”

Evelyn read the letter again. “No. But I did warn you he would need to nurse that bruised ego a bit.”

“But now I need to wait almost two more months? ‘Enjoy your summer’? Evelyn, this is torture.”

Vivie buried her face in her hands, and, free from her sister’s sight, Evelyn shook her head. George was clearly punishing her for ruining his plans. But what was the best course of action to advise? Play it cool or try to make him jealous? Either could backfire with a temperament like George’s. It was so much simpler with someone like Fred, who didn’t make you play games to find out where you stood.

Well, maybe that straightforward approach was what was best here.

“Grab some paper,” she told her sister. “We’re writing him another letter.”

“Dear George,” she dictated. “Wait, do you have a pet name for him too?” Vivie colored. “I don’t want to know. Just use it.” Vivie wrote out a salutation. “I do wish I could see you sooner than the end of August, but my mother is adamant that I not venture into the big, bad city to meet strange men. And while I know you’re not so strange, she, unfortunately, has not had the pleasure of your acquaintance, which is why she hired my brothers to kidnap me from the train station. If you wanted to come to Hereford for a day or two on the beach, we could rectify that situation. But if not, I suppose I’ll see you when the fall term begins.”

“Evelyn, no one talks like that.”

She leveled a gaze at her sister. “You see, that right there is your problem. Go find yourself a man who would laugh at that letter, or it’s your own fault when you wind up married to the fuddiest duddy there is.”

Vivie shook her head. “I’ve got the gist of it.”

Evelyn peeked over her sister’s shoulder, curiosity winning out. “Georgeous?” She made a retching noise.

And for the first time since receiving George’s telegram, Vivie smiled.





Evelyn went back home a few days later, promising to return in a month’s time.

She came back a week early, however, driving at breakneck speed to deliver the news she had read in the Times that morning before anyone else could tell her sister what had happened. For the first time in her life, she didn’t inhale deeply to take in the smell of home as she crossed the bridge into Hereford. She just pressed her foot further toward the floor, dreading the news she had to tell.

Five hours after she had let the newspaper fall to the kitchen table, her mouth open, Evelyn pulled to a stop in front of the cottage, her waist perhaps a fraction thicker than it had been when she left, but not noticeable to anyone else. She left her bag in the car and ran up the stairs.

“Vivie?” she called out.

“Evelyn?” Miriam’s voice came from the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“Where’s Vivie?”

“At the beach with the children.”

Evelyn turned and left the house, her mother calling after her. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

She stopped and took a deep breath. This was her mother’s news as well; Vivie would hold her responsible. She pulled the page of newsprint from her pocket and handed it to her mother, who read it, then put a hand to her heart.

“But—”

“I know.”

“Kinehora,” her mother said, warding off the evil eye, then sinking into one of the wicker porch chairs.

“I have to go to her.”

Miriam grabbed her daughter’s arm. “Don’t. She’s been happy. Let it wait.”